


You Are a Call to Motion

by freyjawriter24



Series: Hozier's Good Omens [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels don't dance, Dancing, First Kiss, Gavotte, Good Omens fic based on a Hozier song, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), movement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: Angels don’t dance. Everyone knows this. Aziraphale knows it. Crowley knows it. But Aziraphale’s never been that good at being an angel, in Heaven’s eyes.Fic inspired by the Hozier’s song Movement.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hozier's Good Omens [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1507292
Comments: 7
Kudos: 95





	You Are a Call to Motion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by Hozier’s song [Movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSye8OO5TkM). I would recommend watching the video as well as listening to the music – not because it has anything to do with the fic, but just because Sergei Polunin is a beautiful dancer.

_When you move, I'm moved_

\-----

The room was full of motion – humans everywhere, chattering and laughing and spinning each other round in those over-indulgent, elegant outfits, playing cheerful and emotional songs on an assortment of instruments, all living life to the full.

Amongst it all, though, was one figure Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off. In between the rustling dresses and the whirling coat tails, he kept catching glimpses of dark glasses and red hair.

Crowley was a beautiful dancer. His limbs shifted in a way that expanded the bounds of the music, his swaying graceful in a way that only a snake could possibly achieve. His partner was smiling widely, laughing whenever he barely swung her out of the way of their fellow dancers in time. The song seemed made for him, in all its dramatic stylishness, and Aziraphale couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The dance came to an end, and the demon bowed to his partner, who smiled again weakly and hurried off in the direction of a glass of water. Then those snake eyes began scanning the room, searching for the next human to twirl around the room.

Aziraphale hoped he found someone soon – he was a pleasure to watch, and that was the next best thing to being able to dance himself. Which he would never be able to do. Because angels don’t dance.

\-----

_When you move_

_Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free_

\-----

They were stood apart from the humans and hidden from their eyes, standing guard. It was night, and although Adam and Eve had been cast out, they and their descendants were still to be watched over. Apparently they were to be part of a larger plan now, one that would involve both Heaven and Hell, though Aziraphale hadn’t been told any of the details yet.

“What are they doing?”

Aziraphale watched with interest as the humans moved their bodies in a strange sort of fluid rhythm – arms, legs, hips, swaying and rocking, twisting and rolling. It was to a beat – a sound reminiscent of the music of Heaven (in the loosest possible sense), but now enacted by human hands. The noise was played out on the ground, between palms, on makeshift instruments, through hands and feet and humming vocal chords.

The angel could feel the emotions of it flowing from the humans in waves – pure joy in this new experience, love and laughter and pleasure even in this place that was not the Garden, even in this world that had death and destruction and never enough safety. Aziraphale could feel the hope and happiness radiating from them, and was moved by it. It was strange, and it was beautiful.

The movement and the music, the simple, pure humanity of it. It made Aziraphale want to go over to them, sit with them and let the feeling of their joy and love pour over and through him, watch them up close as they swayed around the campfire, under the light of the scattered stars. It made Aziraphale want to join in.

“The humans call it dancing,” said Gabriel. The disgust was palpable in the archangel’s voice, and Aziraphale quickly tore his eyes away from the humans, stilling any fragment of his corporation that had been attempting to replicate the rhythm of the humans. His heart froze in place, then slowly began beating again, this time out of time with the stamp of feet and the sway of limbs ahead of him.

“It’s a good thing that we angels do not concern ourselves with such base activities as dancing. It’s so...” Gabriel paused, searching for the right word. Perhaps it had not been invented yet. “Human,” he finished eventually, a note of casual revulsion clear.

Aziraphale slowly turned his gaze to the humans again. _What’s so wrong with being human?_ he thought. _Didn’t we just have a whole war about us loving and protecting them?_ Then he shook himself – those kinds of questions were not to be asked. _Best not to speculate._

This was just another rule Gabriel had presented him with. _Angels don’t dance._ He needed to remember that one. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

\-----

_You do it naturally_

\-----

“Want to dance, angel?”

Crowley had appeared beside him, sudden and unexpected. Well, no, that wasn’t wholly true – Aziraphale had been watching him, had seen him snake his way off the dance floor, weaving among the other party attendees in Aziraphale’s direction. But the angel was stood in a corner, tucked away behind several groups of beautifully-dressed, chattering ladies, and he’d assumed that the demon had been making a beeline to one of them – choosing just one as a dance partner would surely make the others jealous, and that was Crowley’s brand of demonic, wasn’t it?

So no, the demon’s appearance was not sudden, but it was still somewhat unexpected. And now he was leaning casually against the wall, angled slightly towards Aziraphale and offering him a dance.

“I... Crowley, you know I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I’ll teach you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” The angel’s eyes scanned the room quickly, a sharp search for any other celestial presence.

“If it’s them you’re worried about, I can make my excuses and go get changed. It would only take a minute. What colour dress do you think would suit me? Black and red?”

Crowley had misunderstood. It wasn’t the humans he was worried about – although yes, social custom did suggest that one of them should present as female if the two of them were going to dance together... But _no_, they were _not_ going to dance together, because they couldn’t.

“Crowley, angels don’t dance.”

“Huh?”

Aziraphale refused to meet his sunglasses-concealed gaze. Instead he watched as a blonde man in a similar suit to Crowley’s – although somehow far less defined and dapper – span a grinning woman in a champagne-coloured dress around the room. They both looked so happy and at ease, and both were exuding the same kind of love that all humans seemed to while dancing, as they had throughout all of history, from the beginning of their creation.

He wished he could join them.

He wished he could take Crowley’s proffered hand and be led to the centre of the room, and begin stepping and swaying in time with the band’s beautiful music, and feel that love rise up on all sides from everyone dancing around him, and he wished Crowley would smile in that private, soft way he sometimes did, and spin him like the blonde man was spinning his partner, and –

“Angels don’t dance,” he reiterated firmly.

“Oh,” Crowley said, sounding a little disappointed. “Well then, uhh... why are you here?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Business, of course. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the Count over there.” He gestured, and Crowley followed his gaze. A tall man was leaning close to a young woman in deep blue.

“Ah,” the demon said. The angel looked at him, but his face was unreadable, his eyes too well-hidden to reveal anything concrete.

They stood there for a short while, watching the dancers. Then Aziraphale thought to return the question.

Crowley shrugged and made an uncertain noise. “Just like dancing, really. ’M not very good at it, mind, but the humans generally don’t notice. It’s fun.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. He’d thought Crowley had been rather a good dancer, swaying about with all the elegance of his serpent form, but he wasn’t sure whether he should say so or not. So he didn’t.

The song came to an end, and the band struck up a group dance that everyone began to line up with partners for.

“You should go and join them, Crowley.”

“Nah, angel. Think I’m done with dancing for the night.” He grinned slyly. “Your mark looks like he’s doing alright by himself at the moment. Want to get out of here?”

Aziraphale glanced across at the man he was meant to be watching. He was smiling out at the dancers, but his head was tilted down slightly, and the woman in blue was whispering something in his ear. That could mean any number of things, he supposed, but what was there really to stop him from leaving? Heaven’s instructions weren’t exactly specific.

He gave one last careful look around the room, added a quick blessing to the man’s evening, and then turned back to Crowley.

“Yes, my dear,” he smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

\-----

_When you move_

_I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be_

\-----

Part of the beauty of Crowley’s dancing was that it was visible in all the movements he did. That swaying walk of his, as though his corporation was still trying to snake its way through the world. The way he would raise his arms as he clicked his fingers for a miracle, like a Spanish dancer. Even the way he threw himself across any available surface when he was lounging in a private room or in the back of the bookshop was filled with an almost balletic quality.

Over the years, Aziraphale had watched Crowley embrace several forms of dancing in this modern era of high fashion and indulgent parties. They had come and gone over the last few centuries – the fashions, the parties, the dances – but every time was still the same, in essence; a group of humans, enjoying themselves together, moving their bodies in an act of pure joy, love rippling across the room, and a demon in their midst, joining in as much as he could, and an angel on the side-lines, only ever watching.

Crowley had never asked him after that first time, centuries ago. He rather wished he would, even though Aziraphale knew the answer would have to be the same – but just the thought to ask him would feel nice, just the invitation to something as freeing and awe-inspiring and _human_ as dancing would be appreciated. But then he would have to decline anyway, and wouldn’t that be worse?

He was thinking about dancing as he made the journey to St James’ Park. He wondered if Crowley would already be there, or if he would get to see him weave his way through the humans as he had on so many a dance floor. He wondered what it would feel like to offer his hand to the demon, and to lead him in a dance. He wondered how different it would be the other way around. He had never tested any of the steps, but he had watched the humans closely, and he thought he would be able to pick it up relatively quickly.

Crowley was there already, stock-still, looking out over the water at the swans and ducks. What would it be like, if there were no humans here, no prying eyes from Heaven watching, or if he were not an angel at all? Would they be able to glide over the water as it if were ice, or dance up the paths as gracefully as if it were a ballroom, or jump around like those little folk dances made for fun rather than beauty?

Then those two little words on a piece of folded paper shattered Aziraphale’s entire world.

Afterwards, he cried. He holed himself up in the bookshop – blinds closed, door locked, lights off – and rocked slowly in his seat. It didn’t last long, in angelic terms, but it happened. And then he straightened himself, tried to push the fear away and think logically – or rather, not think about it at all – and decided to apologise for his outburst the next time he saw the demon. Not to agree to his request, of course not, but to say sorry, nonetheless.

He didn’t see him for almost eighty more years.

\-----

_When you move_

_I could never define all that you are to me_

\-----

There was a time, before, when he first realised what it might be like to dance, and when he realised that watching Crowley might be the closest he could get.

It was a celebration of some kind – Aziraphale wasn’t sure what for – and the humans had all gathered together to sing and clap and create music. He was in the middle of a crowd, shouting and bringing his palms together in time with the rest of them, cheering and smiling and enjoying himself. And then he realised that the motion was evolving into dancing, and he’d had to stop. He’d backed out slowly from the group, separating himself from them, and standing aside, hidden from human eyes, as they began to dance the night away instead.

And then Crowley had been there, laughing as he missed steps and trying to copy the exact movements of the humans around him, and Aziraphale had found himself smiling. Here was another celestial being, as clueless as him, but able to dive in at the deep end and try it all out, and he was having _fun_ with it, and that was a wonderful sight to behold.

Crowley hadn’t noticed him there, that time. But Aziraphale had watched him for hours as the dances continued and the music changed. It was worth it to stay and see the joy in Crowley’s face, even if he himself couldn’t join in. It was worth it.

\-----

_Like you've nothin' left to prove_

_And nothin' to lose_

\-----

He had been alone for some years when he was next asked to dance.

He didn’t know why he said yes. He didn’t at first – it was a human doing the asking, so the simple reason was not one he could offer, but he formulated excuses until he realised there was little point in doing so. They were always going to ask again.

So he said yes. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t been able to live vicariously through Crowley’s dancing for so long. Maybe it was some small rebellious streak in him – _they haven’t even noticed he’s been gone, they’ve barely checked up on what I’m doing_, and maybe also _well if he’s not here to ask me then maybe I’ll just dance with someone who is_.

It was slow going, at first. But the dance itself was so joyous, so full of laughter and love and energy, that he picked it up quickly. The steps were simple enough, and they matched the beat of the songs well, and each of the humans around him were gracious enough to offer their assistance. Soon he was quite good. Soon he was getting offers all the time to dance.

But the demon still wasn’t back.

Dancing was everything he’d hoped it would be – motion and emotion, formula and flair. And yet there was still something missing.

He was just honest enough with himself to pinpoint why.

It was because he’d always imagined himself doing it with Crowley.

When the gavotte fell out of fashion, the loss went deep inside Aziraphale. Almost as deep as the loss of a library, or two simple words on a piece of paper. But it was a loss that he was never meant to feel in the first place, so he hid it away. _You can never tell anyone._

Angels don’t dance.

\-----

_Move like grey skies_

_Move like a bird of paradise_

_Move like an odd sight come out at night_

\-----

He got him back. He got him back, and far more than that – he got a wave of love of the like that even he had never experienced before.

It first crashed over him in the ruins of a church, and then it continued to lap at him for decades afterwards, threatening to drown him again and again – in the bookshop, in the Bentley, at the Ritz.

One night, Crowley had asked him out for drinks at a little place near where the demon was staying.

It wasn’t anything special, except that it was. It was intended to take his mind off everything else that was happening. It was to cheer him up, to make him forget the plight of the humans for a little while. It was nice.

But as the evening wore on, things moved, and suddenly there was loud music, and dancing, dancing, dancing.

“Do you mind, angel?” Crowley had said straining to be heard over the music, gesturing vaguely at the mass of bodies.

They were both slightly drunk, and by the looks of it, so were most of the humans around them. Everyone was drinking away their worries tonight.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale had said, shaking his head and waving him towards the crowd.

Crowley had stood, and then looked down at him for a moment.

_Ask me._

He’d opened his mouth, then closed it again. Still he hovered.

_Ask me, please. I can’t do it._

“I’ll see you in a bit, then, angel. Won’t be long.”

And then he’d left, joining the humans in their strange modern version of dancing. Aziraphale had felt the loss of him leave, but then he was buoyed back up almost immediately by the memory of this feeling – of watching, and participating like that.

The dance was closer to that first time he’d seen the humans doing it that any of the choreographed movements he’d seen since. It was uncoordinated and carefree, and it was _beautiful_.

_Crowley_ was beautiful with it, swaying and jumping and looking – well, for want of a better description – in Heaven.

Aziraphale felt something bubble up inside his chest – a longing, a hope, a need. But he didn’t move. Not yet. He couldn’t do it, yet. Not without being asked. Not yet.

An hour or so later, Crowley came back to him and they finished the evening together, joking and laughing over the music, just enjoying the feeling of the humans enjoying life around them.

\-----

_So move me, baby_

_Like you've nothin' left to lose_

_And nothin' to prove_

\-----

The end of the world came and went. And Aziraphale was set adrift – the rules meant nothing now, and they never had, not really. He was almost lost without them.

But he wasn’t, of course he wasn’t, because Crowley was there to catch him. He’d always been there for his angel, he could see that now, and Crowley always been slow and careful and gentle with him, so scared of making a mistake. And so Aziraphale knew he would have to make the first move himself.

It was at the bookshop. A night like any other, except far more private than it had ever been, now that the world was safe and Heaven and Hell wouldn’t be dropping in unannounced whenever they felt like it. Aziraphale put the music on.

“I like this one,” Crowley said lazily, glasses flung on a side table somewhere and head thrown back against the sofa cushions, eyes tracing the lines on the ceiling. “Remember when I first heard it.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed. He stayed by the record player, watching Crowley, trying to figure out how to do this. The song played on.

“You alright, angel?”

He’d looked up, and was watching Aziraphale with a slight frown now. He’d probably been expecting him to come straight back to his chair, now that the music was on. The fact that he hadn’t was an indication that there was something on his mind.

“Yes, quite.”

Crowley didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. He never pushed.

After a moment, Aziraphale summoned up his courage – what was left of it, after saving the world and almost dying in the process – and walked over to his friend, his best friend, and held out a hand.

“Dance with me, Crowley?”

The demon’s frown melted away, was replaced by a rapid cycle of a million different emotions, and then finally settled into that gorgeous soft smile that Aziraphale loved to see.

“Of course, angel.”

He took the hand and stood. They moved away from the sofa, into the small space by the record player. They gently arranged their limbs into the correct formation, and then began to sway together in time to the music.

It was nothing complicated, nothing worth even calling dancing, really, and yet it was perfect all the same. Crowley was there, alive and real in his arms, and nothing could stop them. Nothing at all.

The demon took a step sideways, and brought Aziraphale with him, gasping in delighted surprise.

“You ok?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

Crowley did it again, and kept doing it, and Aziraphale matched his steps each time – one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

Now this – _this_ was what dancing was all about. He had imagined this moment so many times, in so many different ways, and yet now that it was really happening, Aziraphale knew that the real thing was far better than whatever measly approximation of imagination She had given him. It was _glorious_.

Crowley gently pushed off from his side with one hand and raised his other arm high, spinning the angel around in a breathless circle. Aziraphale missed his footing slightly, and stumbled with a laugh against Crowley as he turned back to face him.

And then they were chest to chest and gazing at each other. The music continued, but they were frozen in the moment, neither daring to move an inch.

They both started speaking at the same moment, apologies cramming themselves on top of one another.

“Sorry about that, angel, I –”

“I’m sorry about this, my dear.”

And Aziraphale pushed forwards that tiny bit further and the still-open, still-moving lips met his. And then they froze, shocked and uncertain.

There was a moment, as he pulled away, when he saw Crowley’s eyes – huge and yellow, surprised and snake-like – when he thought he’d somehow gotten it horribly, terribly wrong.

But then a soft, pained sound escaped Crowley’s lips, and his eyes shut and he moved back towards Aziraphale again, and the two of them were kissing, gentle and new. And everything from six thousand years of unsaid words was crashing together in that movement, in that one ecstatic sensation.

It was bliss.

\-----

_Move me, baby_

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in italics are all from Movement – you can read the lyrics (and their meanings) [here](https://genius.com/Hozier-movement-lyrics).
> 
> Fun fact: the lyrics of this song reference ‘S. Polunin’ as an example of a great dancer – and he’s the one who dances in the music video. Watch it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSye8OO5TkM).


End file.
